


A Grant for Tindómiel

by Lunarium



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Númenor, Tolkien Femslash Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7514945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My problem is Meril, father,” Tindómiel said and took another deep breath, her heart pounding with the confession reaching her lips. “I love her deeply, and that is the source of my pain."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Grant for Tindómiel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tolkien Femslash Week's Bingo! The prompts that inspired this are: 
> 
> O37: Story elements - a flute   
> O37 Lyrics & Poetry - bring wings to the weak and bring grace to the strong. May all evil stumble as if flies in the world (Janella Monáe)   
> O43: Opposites attract - starcrossed lovers

The moanful tune of the flute drifted throughout the house that morning. Beautiful and haunting like the elven songs Tar-Minyatur knew in his youth, having heard them countless times before when another minstrel used to play them. He had hoped his youth would be the last time he would hear such sadness interwoven with beauty, as though the two belonged to one another. He had sympathy for the man whose songs were only ever sad; he was long-lived and had buried many brothers before his blood-stained hands had learned to embrace Elros as one of his own children. But the song which reached him now was from one far too young, born within the great golden dome of Armenelos, far away from the turmoils Tar-Minyatur himself had witnessed in his time. 

He went searching for his daughter.

*

A single teardrop clung to the corner of Tindómiel’s eye as deft fingers glided over silvery flute like second nature. The notes carried her out her window and past the trees of her people’s hope-filled young island, her yearning a sharp compass guiding her straight into the arms of love and agony, joy and sorrow. She held back the shudder of breath, focusing the wind of her sorrow into music. 

“Dear daughter, what has ailed your heart?” her father and king, Tar-Minyatur, asked. He stood by the arched doorway, his hands open to welcome her in his arms if she wished to cry into them as she sometimes did, years ago when she ran barefoot, carefree, chasing after her older brother and his friends before landing herself into trouble, as she was wont to do. 

Tindómiel ceased her playing and set her flute down. She took a deep breath. 

“It is nothing, father,” she said with a small bow. 

“Nothing?” Tar-Minyatur repeated, his head bowed to one side. At the very least, he did not appear angry. Just concerned. “Then why do you play as though there could be no beauty or love in this world without tragedy? So odd for such emotion from someone like yourself, my daughter. Meril-i-Turinqi taught you to play the flute, had she not? She’s so full of light herself, and I have never, in all the times she has visited from Tol Eressëa, never heard a mournful note leave her lips.” 

At the mention of the young elven queen’s name, Tindómiel’s face grew hot. 

“My problem _is_ Meril, father,” Tindómiel said and took another deep breath, her heart pounding with the confession reaching her lips. “I love her deeply, and that is the source of my pain: that I will some day cease to be while she will continue to walk this world forever and without me.” 

Her father regarded her with sympathy, but it was a time before he replied. “Odd are your words! The lives of the Númenóreans are exceptionally long compared to other Men, dear daughter. You will have much time with Meril to count each moment a blessing. We live in peaceful times, with good relations with the elves of Tol Eressëa. You will see Meril often. What more could you wish?” 

She understood her father’s words, but they did nothing to lessen the pain in her heart. “Were we not once counted among the elves, father? Weren’t you an elf, raised by them, nursed by them, fought alongside them? You chose the path of Men, different from your brother. Lúthien had chosen to become mortal so she may live and die with Beren, because she loved him. Tuor, a Man, is counted among the elves and lives an immortal live in Valinor. Can I not choose the path of the elves so I may remain with Meril?” 

“Tindómiel!” Her father’s eyes flashed with anger at her boldness, but when he peered into her eyes she was certain he saw the deep sorrow and the regret that she held. And in turn she saw shame creep into his bones though he was loathe to admit it, thinking back to the brother he had deserted in his decision following the fate of Men. 

As the silence between them lingered, a new song steadily arose in the air, and the fair voice filled the morning with her golden beauty. Tindómiel’s attention swayed immediately towards the fair song, enchanted as she was with the elven queen since the first day they met, though in her eyes, along with love there swam also the sorrow. Yet the music had provided her hope and strength, and as her strong father listened along with her, his eyes softened with compassion. 

Tar-Minyatur took a deep breath. “Meril is currently visiting us, and from the sounds of it she’s in the gardens. She has been filling our city with many gifts from her garden to ours. Go to her and spend what time you may, and cherish it. Think not what will come in the future. That is still very far away for you.”

His words, though spoken gently, felt like he was just brushing her away. Yet turning back to him, she couldn’t resist the smile. 

“I love her,” she said. 

“And may your love be ever blessed,” Tar-Minyatur said genuinely, touching his hand to his chest as Tindómiel had seen the elves of Tol Eressëa do. She mimicked the gestural response she had seen the elvenwomen perform, believing it deep in her veins that she would be counted as among them, then left the music room under her father’s kind gaze.

*

Smile though he did, as Tar-Minyatur watched Tindómiel go, his heart grew heavier, and it did not lessen even as he watched his daughter run into the warm embrace of Meril-i-Turinqi, their lips finding one another in a quick chaste kiss. Their warm words filled the bright garden, though from this angle he could see his daughter was doing all she could to hold back her breaking heart. 

“I have never heard of one dying of pain while so happy in their lover’s arms,” his wife spoke as she appeared be his side. Henthaeldis peered out the window. “Then again, I am unburdened with living in the mesh of the two fates. My own long life was a reward for marrying you.” Her lips quirked into a smile that did not entirely abate her husband’s concerns. 

“This best not be a warning for days to come,” he said slowly. “We have been blessed with long life, and I hope my daughter can learn to appreciate that while she can.” 

“Is there nothing you, or we, can do?” Henthaeldis asked, folding her arms. “Pray to Eru to grant her this one wish? After all, she is still elven through your line, is she not?” 

“Ask for all of Fate to make a grant for her? What if this stirs jealousy in the hearts of other Men? I fear others will begin to question why our lives are not longer. They will look to the Elves, envy their limitless life, build their own doom in walking in her footsteps—”

“You will be quick to blame your daughter for other Men’s potential deeds?” Henthaeldis snapped, nodding her head in satisfaction when Tar-Minyatur winced as if scalded. “We both know the complex nature of Men’s hearts. That is for each Man to decide for himself how to conduct his life and actions. Tindómiel’s choice is hers, and hers alone. How anyone will behave after our deaths shall be held accountable, and our daughter will have no blame for their sins.” 

He nodded his head, considered his wife’s words deeply. Under their window the two women went on in conversation, arms entwined, the union of elf and man forever tied in Tar-Minyatur’s family line. Their affection was contagious, bringing a smile to them both, of Meril’s sunny smile and wind-chime laugh, and Tindómiel’s solemn voice. A song of mingled ethereal and earthy voices glided over young flowers. 

“You think seeking a means for elfdom for our daughter will be worthwhile?” he eventually asked. “Is it possible? Will the gods indulge us?” 

Henthaeldis shrugged her shoulders but smiled. “I became stuck living a long time because I married you, beloved. I do not see why the same cannot be done for our young one. We need only but ask.”


End file.
